Lack Of Consideration
by Wicked R
Summary: a certain VCTF team from Atlanta is called to deal with the Carver, early season 3 NipTuck. Spoilers accordingly!
1. Chapter 1

Title: Lack of Consideration  
Author: Wicked dR  
Disclaimers: Murphy/Saunders/some people's ideas on the Carver  
Genre: G/Drama/Angst  
Rating: PG.  
Summary/Set: a certain VCTF team from Atlanta is called to deal with the Carver, early season 3 Nip/Tuck. **Spoilers accordingly!**  
Note: I'm elaborating on everybody's ideas on the Carver, so I would think you would recognise your own ideas. But that doesn't mean at all that you have guessed who my Carver is!  
Also, I have only seen about half of the Profiler episodes, and not all Nip/Tuck episodes either. This is a real long shot, so all suggestions and corrections are welcome.

Malone hurried down the steps of the command center of the violent crimes' task force FBI headquarters just as George switched on the huge monitor in front from his laptop, showing a photo of a good looking young girl.

John seemed to have just arrived as well, sitting down next to Grace, and Sam was drinking coffee leisurely sitting on the table. She was seemingly a different, much more relaxed person since she came back to work for her long time friend Bailey for the third time. Only that with this occasion, it was completely her choice, and what she wanted to do with her life, knowing what she was best at, and not ultimately driven by a wish to catch Jack.

"So what we got?" Bailey took charge as soon as he entered.

"I'm the culprit," Grace started, "it was my sister who requested my help in the matter. She lives in Miami, and works as an anaesthesiologist at a plastic surgery business. Her bosses were victims of a serial rapist called the Carver. And as soon as I got familiar with some of the details of the case, I immediately thought that this should be dealt with by the VCTF. I already given George the file," she thus encouraged him to speak.

"Yeah," George looked up for his computer for a second, acknowledging his role as the narrator, "on the screen the Carver's first victim, a model, just at the brig of becoming very popular. The Carver injected her with something to control her, cut her face, as you see from the next picture, and raped her. There was a forced entry to the house, but like with the seven following other victims, three males, four females," several faces flashed up on the monitor, "no one heard or saw anything. Carver is wearing a mask the victims describe as looking like this. All the attacks happened in a course of a year, in a twenty mile radius."

"He is a planner and very cautious," Sam said, "making sure he has leave way."

"So what's the common denominator?" Bailey leaped into action.

"The victims were all making a living out of looks, or had taken major advantage of their appearance in some way. You don't have to wonder about why the attacks, the Carver clearly leaves the message each time, he is telling all victims that beauty is a curse on the world."

"I don't think it's personal," Sam gave her first impression after having had some flashes of somebody putting a knife down in a very controlled manner and ripping the clothes off a girl with no hurry at all, "it's more like a message," she sat down to the table with the rest of them, "it's like a task he has to complete, rid the world of physical appearance being a determining factor in how you succeed in life. I don't think he rapes them to enjoy himself, it's more like putting himself above them, showing them he is worth more cause he is not using his good looks."

"But then comes the interesting part," George continued, "Liz's boss helps some of the victims regain their appearance, so the Carver attacks him, but only carves one side of his face, and no rape. He threatens him to stop undermining his work. But instead of continuing with what he has done before, he carves a girl from the surgeon's son's school, clearly daring him to challange him. Dr. Sean McNamara takes the job, next thing, his partner gets it in the neck, literally, same circumstances as the others, but not on the face. He told he was threatened with the same message. After this, Carver resumes to his normal way of operating, one identical victim to the first ones."

"What do we know about the wounds?" Bailey asked.

"The wounds are precise, as if he knew exactly what he was doing," Grace took over, summoning what she knew from her area of expertise, "he also knows how to inject victims without causing swelling to the injection site. Even the wound on Dr. Troy's neck is the same. If we can go by the analogy that he is skilled in such matters, he had no intentions to kill him. The carotid artery is on the left side of the neck and he was cut on the right."

"Could he not still bleed to death?" John asked, "cutting someone's throat evidently endangers their lives more than if you he just cut the victims' faces."

"His aim is not to kill people, just the advantage these people have with their  
physical attractiveness," Sam supplied, "of course he probably would not care if there was an unwanted accident on the way, unless...there is something about the change of habit with this victim."

"It looks different, but can we be certain the show with the doctors was not part of a bigger scheme? They are after all, working on the beauty in the world. Or could the attack be done by two different people, like a copycat? Sam?" Bailey addressed the profiler, clearly lost in one of her reverie type flashbacks, after having stared on the screen showing the crime scene in Dr. Christian Troy's apartment.

"Yes, Bailey, we don't know that yet. Although copycats would try to duplicate the assault a bit more. Not slashing his face doesn't make sense, if he really wanted to blend in with the rest. Unless of course this different attacker couldn't bring himself to damage the guy's face. What about sexual assault? On Dr...Troy," she read from the monitor.

"There's no confirmation on that," George checked.

Sam looked back onto the bed on the screen, seeing with her mind's eyes some dead weight being turned over on it by a stout person in the mask, "no, he was raped. He's lying about it."

"Protecting the Carver?"

"There are many reasons that male victims do not come forward and report being raped. Their reasons include fear of reprisal by the perpetuator, but more likely a shame issue, even an unwillingness to think of themselves as survivors of sexual assault and fearing all the potential changes in themselves that might inevitably ensue, especially if that meant they would have to revert back themselves to en earlier state they thought they have passed, in case of repeated sexual assault victims that they have never reported either. Male rape happens a lot more than you think. And there could be a resentment that the behavior of the perpetuator has the power to cause the survivor to expend time, energy, emotional resources and therefore essentially take control of their life for an unknown length of time. Sometimes they won't even admit to themselves it happened. What I personally find attention grabbing is that even though my primary guess at the moment would be that the Carver had initially did not want to target plastic surgeons, he did not continue the same way with them. I mean what is the difference? They were a curse on the world as well from the point of view that they manufacture beauty. Yet, Dr. Sean McNamara was the only one who the Carver did not rape, and Dr. Troy is the only one he didn't disfigure the face of. I'm not saying they are involved in some way, but they should be the key. If we know why the attacker chose to treat them differently, we might be closer to the solution."

"Eee...John?" George attracted the attention of his old pal from the burger he was eating, and indicated that he should look to the photo of the surgeon the ex hacker just put up for everybody to see.

"Are you certain you didn't get mixed up and end up with a picture of John?" Grace tried.

"Do I usually do that?" George gave her one of his I know computers, okay? looks.

"You do practical jokes," Sam lifted her head.

"Well, he certainly looks like you," George acknowledged with a nod of his head, "apart from the Armani suit and the golden watch that is. I'm not even sure John could go undercover like that, people would figure him out in like one..."

"George, wipe that look off your face," John said annoyed.

"What do we know about the guy?" Bailey put them back on track.

"Forty, single," George read up, "having a successful business for ten years, no criminal records unless you count excessive speeding and having been found in a dubious brothel. He just started work again after the attack. Background, he has been adopted at the age of two, been at various foster carers prior, adoptive parents died when he was at collage and his father's death was investigated as a potential murder, but was classified as an accident eventually. I'm sure I can find more if you give me some time."

"No, John will do that, ask around, do some detective work in Miami, see what the local police got. George, you stay here, look at the first victim, everybody who they had contact with. We're looking for somebody with either not a perfect physical appearance or somebody who has been wronged by the modelling business, or anything to do with plastic surgery, who had had an operation and turned out wrong, no matter what. Maybe even had an operation in order to succeed as a model, they do that a lot nowadays. Especially if it was done by McNamara and Troy. You know the drill, I don't have to tell you. If you find somebody with some contact with the medical profession, you probably got your guy. Till then, Sam? Could you go down with John? Get some impressions?"

"I believe the crime scene of the last attack is still intact," George encouraged.

"Mmm," Sam nodded.

"Grace?" Bailey asked.

"Well, there is not much to examine, but it would be a good chance to see my sister. Let's be honest, we are all workaholics here. If you can connect it with something remotely recreational..."

"I say go for it," Bailey gave his blessing, "you need it. Take Jason, whatever."

tbc


	2. Stand Up And Out

Chapter 2: Stand Up And Out

Grace killed the engine in front of a radiant, one storey building that said McNamara and Troy, plastic surgery, on it, instructed her son to take his seat belt off, stepped out the car and waited for Sam to finish her phone conversation before they could go in, leaning towards her so that she can hear George's update as well.

"The first victim had briefly went out with a plastic surgeon," they heard the computer whiz' voice, "who later on was forced to go out of business, partially because of the McNamara and Troy practice's success, and he actually attacked and carved Dr. Troy's face before. He could be a nice suspect, but unfortunately he has spend the last three month in a correction institution in Chicago..."

"Well, that is not a bad idea, George," Sam held, "find the data on all plastic surgeons who had to give up their profession or there was some major problem with their business. Cross section that with juvenile offenders, or someone questioned over house burglary. Rapists sometimes test their abilities of breaking in to a friend's house at first, so the charges will be dropped. Remember, it can not be anything they would take a DNA sample for, cause the samples taken from victims don't match the database. See if you can find something that way. And how is it going with breaking into patient files to find out who had surgeries and the outcomes?...Okay then," she switched off the phone.

"Grace! Jason!" A curly haired, smiley woman flew towards them a cuddled the two Alvarezes up, "nice to see you again Sam. How is Chloe?" She turned to Sam.

"Oh, she's just back from her grandmothers'. Already missing the horses, and giving me a row about missing a boy's birthday party she would like to become a bit more fiends with. But she had to go back to school. Not that she doesn't like that. She is quite artistic I might say, especially in writing and dancing. How are things with you?"

"Ah, my life would be boring as ever, if I didn't work in this crazy joint."

"About that, Liz, are your bosses around? Do you think they would mind talking to me?"

"Sean, no, once he has come out from the operating room, although he is really busy and the surgeries might take a while too. Christian is in his office, I think there is no client with him right now, but he is not very approachable I might add. Not that he ever was. But now, as if he was moving in slow motion all the time. Figuratively speaking."

"That is understandable under the circumstances."

"Is it? Why? Sean was attacked too. Yet he is back to work at full speed, not pedalling outwards any time we mention using a scalpel."

"His experience was diff..." Sam started, "uhm, everyone deals with trauma differently. There is no right way to deal with a stressful event that applies for everyone. Bar actually, the more an individual stuffs down their negative emotions, the greater the intensity of the explosion of emotion when it erupts, believe me, I know, and that is not just a text book experience. But the sooner we get this rapist, the better for everyone. Could you show me to Dr. Troy's office?"

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Christian sat at his desk, to the eye of the beholder tiredly filling out a patient file stipulating what he needed to know from a blood test amongst a pile high of records and accounts, scribbling with his unintelligible scrawls, but in fact engulfed in an inner battle, trying to convince himself to concentrate. He had to be strong, he had to be persistent with pretending he was the casual playboy everybody knew, and eventually it will all be fine. He knew that ultimately, Sean was right, going back to work and taking his mind off things was the best thing for him to do, but it didn't seem to work out that easily. There was quite a high level of underlying anxiety that made him pause at times, needing a bit of willpower to move on from getting engulfed by memories of a long forgotten childhood. But he knew he had a strong will, if he could do it before, he could certainly live through this. Eventually he would win this battle with himself, but he needed a breather again. He put his head in his hands, momentarily giving up attempting to pretend he was leading a normal life, then shut his head up again when he remembered that the door of his office was open and somebody had not only seen him, but wanted his attention by knocking at his door.

The blonde woman looked a bit started herself when he looked up, and made a couple of hesitant steps towards him, "uhm...Dr. Troy...I'm from the FBI. We're investigating the Carver..."

"Oh, there was nothing else that occurred to me since my statement, which I'm sure you read," Christian said quickly, having no wishes whatsoever to remember what he was trying hard to forget, "I was off my work due to the attack and I'm very busy to catch up."

"I know Dr. Troy. Just a few questions...I have the experience that the interviewees usually know more than they disclose, not neccessarily because they want to hide something, but mainly because they can't think all that straight about what has happened to them. My job is partly to help them through the haze...uhm, do you know of any reason why the Carver would not rape your partner and would not slash your face?"

"Do you want a theory from me? That is your job," Christian said slowly, not missing the fact the woman went against his statement that still describes him not being raped with utter certainty, "you said you were from where?" He asked, wondering if the local sex crimes investigator had shared her theory with her already. That will be great, women chatting along about him being raped while having a cup of tea and chocolate cookies.

"We're the violent crimes team from Atlanta."

"Couldn't they find a team any closer?" Christian grunted, not all that impressed about the whole of America discussing his personal matters now.

"There are not many of a team of our kind actually, but we're here because our forensic doctor is the sister of your anaesthesiologist."

"Goddamn," Christian muttered. That lesbian was causing him more trouble than any other woman he ever met.

"Dr. Troy, I'm trying to help. We are on the same side here. I know very well how it feels having been used and abused. Becoming an object is what drives the victims to near insanity, I've been there. So I chose to be a profiler, cause I'm somehow instinctually good at it," Sam said, knowing that sometimes disclosing herself is the only way to get the other to do the same, "I try to understand the attackers. So I'm asking you again about your experience when meeting him, because what matters is not necessarily the content. What matters is the timing and the music and the meaning attributed to the content, if you know what I mean."

"Interesting. If you understand him, this means that you have something in common right? And you are asking me why he didn't carve my face. Am I supposed to have something in common with him? Did you profile me?" He got into the cat and mouse game. Sam was a woman above all, after all.

"I look at all potentials, that is my job."

"And?" He dared further.

"It's just more like an initial intuition, but you strike me as a take me as I am or leave me altogether person. And you are quite solitary, just like our criminal. Of course, that doesn't mean I accuse you of anything, just that you would have some similarities. But then everybody would find something similar in them with everybody. Looking for patterns, similarities, is one way to catch a killer. Especially if the characteristics deviate from norms so much it's not a haystack anymore you are looking at."

"Psychology, huh? Funny how it comes up with the ideal normal person, comparing to which I'm not, by and using mental patients as reference."

"You not a great believer in psychology, Dr. Troy?"

"Christian," he stood up and sat on his table from the other side, for the first time interested in the woman, captivated by the conflicting views, "let's just say if I'd gave it any thought, I'd be as good as dead, or actually, dead."

"Probably that is what the Carver thinks as well," Sam chipped in.

"Hm," Christian said slightly amused by the forensic psychologist, always pressing the matter, although in a different manner than Kit, "more similarities, huh? Well, I don't usually do anything to impose myself. I don't need to. Women get keen on me naturally. All I need to do is to be my annoyingly provoking self. And the self destructive mechanisms of the woman do the rest. And with your Carver, my guess, I wasn't a target really, he just had fun with me, since he was there. I was the means to get through to Sean, my partner, which I must say, was not so effective, cause he never got the message."

"Did it seem to you as if the assailant was competent in medical matters?"

"He was quick and efficient, that I can say."

"He?"

"Yes, he."

"How can you be certain of that?"

"You don't have to competent in medical matters to identify a broomstick, sweetheart, when it's pressing on top of you, even if its owner is enjoying himself by slashing your neck at the time."

"In that case, would you be also sure that the attacker was not wearing padding and in reality being as bulky as in the descriptions of the victims?"

"Yes."

"Describe with one word how did he appear to you?"

"Cold blooded."

"But you said he got excited when he slashed you? Sexually?"

"Takes nothing away from his ritualistic precision."

"Got some news," John bounced into the door, at first only seeing Sam. Then she stepped out the way and the two men came face to face with each other...

tbc


	3. Parallel

--------

Chapter 3: Parallel

Christian's reaction was more notable than John's. He was clearly quite shocked to see such an alike. He slowly shook his head and went back to plonk himself back on his seat.

"Now I can see how I freaked out the locals and didn't get too far in asking neighbours," John supplied, himself fairly curious about how this could be, but prepared for the encounter.

"And makes me go nowhere with my questioning...but you did find out something you said?" Sam asked with a smile on her lips, somewhat entertained by the surgeon's reaction which she didn't want to openly disclose.

"Who are you?" Christian voiced the obvious question.

"John Grant, born O'Doyle, FBI detective from Atlanta, but having lived all over the country, knowing not much of either of my mother's or my father's family," he said in a oner, revealing more than he ever would to anybody, but hoping he would get some answers this way.

"Christian Troy," came the similar confession, "plastic surgeon living all his life in Miami, not knowing anything of my real parents cause I was adopted...but I assume you already know that."

"Well," John offered, "we do know that but we could know a lot more. Adoption files are secret, but not for us. Unofficially of course. If you wish, we could find out everything about your background. Or so I hope."

"I always had the right to ask for my files and I didn't. I don't need FBI assistance for that. What makes you think I would want to find out anything now?"

"Yeah, but generally, the agencies will only give out what they call non-identifying information, no full names or addresses, unless the consent of all parties has been obtained. But you have the right to know your real name. Do you? Know?"

"I'm not interested," Christian said irritably.

"Are you not the slightest bit questioning why we look so alike?"

"You come into my life and mess with my mind. I think not," he towered over John, stepping close to him as his emotions ran high enough to raise his blood pressure to the danger zone.

"Come on, John," Sam pulled him out of the room, explaining to him outside, "tracing your birth family is not something you undertake lightly and you should be prepared for the emotions that this process could bring to the surface. So you can not press any person into it, if they are not ready to do it. If he was going to, he would've been doing it before his fortieth birthday. Also, it is quite common for the initial reaction to be a completely negative one. Some come round from it. Leave it lying, John. But how can I say such thing, you never do, do you? Leave it. Just like when you were not happy with my Sam Lawson status," she walked ahead, making John follow if he wanted to have the conversation.

"I will certainly ask George to find out everything he can. I'd do that for myself, not for this Troy."

"Sure, just as long as you don't expect anything from him, whatever the outcome. So what was it you were going to say about the Carver?"

"Oh, you'll love this," John said as they joined Grace outside, "George says there is a plastic surgeon, a rather good one who gave up his practice for not believing in the cause anymore. He was also investigated for burglary in Maryland, where he stays. He entered a friend's house late at night, but the charges were dropped very quickly. There also was an investigation about fifteen years back about the disappearance of his son and wife, but there was no proof of any criminal activity, so he wasn't considered as a suspect. The name's Dr. Barrett Moore, he lives in a secluded house in the country. And now you'll really love this."

"Which part of it I wasn't loving so far?" Sam admitted.

"He was in Miami several times over the last few month, and George says he was here at the time of the attacks. He was here recently as well, but left on the day before the attack on Dr. Troy."

"Oh, I knew it looked too good to be true," Grace sighed.

"Hmm...maybe not," Sam scrunched her face deep in thought, "the attack on Christian Troy was different then the rest. He can still be our man. Tell George he is a genius for finding this information for us. Question is, could there be any other reason for Dr. Moore to be here that often?"

"Like helping McNamara and Troy with a surgery? Cause that was his last visit's purpose. George got into the patient files and found a patient called Ava Moore. His long lost wife. Maybe he knew she was here all along."

"Well, we know why he was here that often then," Grace thought.

"Do we know where he is at the moment?" Sam tilted her head, "you know, just in case. Although the Carver seems to be very precise, careful and calculating"

"Did you hear the question?" John asked George, having just have dialled him to thank him for his help.

"He is..." They heard George's voice trailing off as if he was just trying to find the information on his computer screen as John had switched the speaker of his phone on, "guys, he is in Miami! Arrived yesterday, and checked into Albion as he usually does."

"I suggest we talk to him," Sam said, "then we come back later to see what Dr. McNamara knows about the Moore family when he is finished with his surgeries. I guess Christian would have had enough of us for one day. George, let Bailey know what we are doing."

"And George!" John shouted in the phone before the computer specialist broke the connection, "don't forget those adoption records!"

tbc


	4. Liable To Tax

Chapter 4: Liable To Tax

After John had shown him his FBI badge, the hotel receptionist showed them up to Dr. Moore's room in a hurry in case any of the other guests had seen the incident, "Dr. Moore had checked out an hour ago, but if you wanna see for yourself..."

"Was the cleaner in yet?" Grace asked the important question.

"Not as far as I know," the middle age woman with an apron who showed them up opened the door for them.

"Did you notice anything unusual about him? Anytime he was staying here?" John asked.

"No, but this was the first time I had actually seen him. I was working in another hotel of the chain before."

"Do you think you could look it up who was on duty when he stayed here before?"

"Certainly."

"Thank you, that is all," John dismissed her, giving her an encouraging nod of the head, then started looking after the others who had disappeared in the rooms of the large apartment.

"The razor was still in the bin," Grace arrived showing up a plastic bag, "we can check his DNA. Otherwise I think the apartment is clean. He took everything. There's nothing else we could find here. Sam?" They looked for their co-worker.

The profiler was kneeling down next to the bed, touching the phone and an empty envelope next to it, "he left very upset, he was urgently opening some letter, than called somebody to check something about it."

"Well, I don't know, maybe we will know more after I get to the lab," Grace suggested, "Sam, you could go back to the surgery and pick up Jason from Liz's care, will you?"

"Since I don't think John should show up anywhere near Christian just now, I'll go with that," Sam agreed.

"Fair enough," John nodded, "I'll talk with the workers around here. We'll meet at our accommodation."

----------------------------------

"You missed Sean," Liz greeted Sam when she arrived back to the surgery, "he had to go to the police station urgently. And I asked for the afternoon off to be able to spend some time with Jason. I already told Grace."

"Oh, we don't seem to be very successful today," Sam sighed, "do you know what the police wanted?"

"Something to do with his son. He gets into trouble quite a lot these days."

"Anything in particular?"

"Matters of my son's behaviour are no business of yours," a strong voice made her turn around to face the tall surgeon.

"Eeo...we were talking about your partner's son," Sam defended herself, but immediately thought something was wrong as Liz made a funny humphlike noise.

"Matt is biologically my son, and it's a long story I don't wish to share with you."

"I see..."

"You see nothing Ms. Walker. You live hundreds of miles away. How can you judge our situation?"

Sam gave a little smile to the man so obviously tied up with the fear of rejection. Not only he is afraid of finding out about his birth family and why they have abandoned him, not wanting to experience a repeat performance now that he was able to feel it utterly and completely as opposed to the little baby he was when they first got rid of him. But that one event that he didn't even remember has influenced his every decision. Sam felt her being rejected by him the same way, in self defence. The less people he let in, the less it was possible to get hurt, "I see quite a lot actually. Call it a gift. Beyond the normal, explainable, most would say. I have the ability to see behind the scene, to notice and feel connections nobody else would ever think of. And I try to stay in a certain way distant from the cases, so I don't judge. I was hoping we could continue our conversation with particular interest to some developments we..."

"Communicating is sharing trash. Seldom an inspiring experience," Christian pushed her away once more, clearly still disturbed by his earlier incident with the team.

"This is the point I opt out," Liz hurried out the door.

"Oh, yes, we could do other things, like hack into your systems further more to find out about your cases, but I prefer to talk. I believe there is fragrant somewhere behind the words, even if it is trash otherwise. "

"That is a pretence. I do it too, quite a lot, when I'm in the mood. But it's only keen self negation. Sex is a mode of communication I prefer. But you already must know that from your snooping around everybody, looking for a criminal around here. Now sex, that tells you a lot about the other person."

Sam looked around confused now that they were alone in the surgery. Nevertheless, Christian stood at the other side of some chairs from her, with his hands in his pocket, not even mustering her. The sentence wasn't meant to be a pick up line, she concluded, even if the last bit was said very softly and teasingly.

"I have a girlfriend," Christian explained himself, clearly amused by the confusion he caused. It was one of his methods to get to a girl's pants that happened to have worked before on occasions, but he didn't intend it like that this time. However, making the woman befuddled lightened his mood, "all right, what do you want to know?"

"What do you know about Dr. Barrett Moore?"

"Not much. He's a sad and disillusioned man."

"What did he help you with when he was here at the surgery?"

"He? We kinda helped him meet up with his long lost wife."

"How did the wife react?"

"It was more like a long overdue final good bye."

"Did you meet him on other occasions as well?"

"No."

"Did he seem surprised about finding his wife here?"

"He said so. I never seen him overly emotional about the discovery though. What does he have to do with the Carver?"

The profiler's cell stopped her from responding, "Sam Waters. Aha...really? Are you certain?...Can we be sure he left the country?...Yes, thanks very much, Grace, that is really great. See you soon," she looked towards the man who's curiosity about developments made him step closer to her so that they practically shared the same bubble. His fragrance, his off-handish, poised stance, his deep stare, was nothing like John's boyish behaviour in intimate situations with women. She had to remind herself that she was in a steady relationship herself for a couple of years now since she dared to have a boyfriend after Jack. She had to step away from him to be able to talk, especially considering what she was going to say to him, "well, that should count as one of our shortest investigations ever. DNA evidence suggests that the Carver is in fact Dr. Moore. We assume he long knew about his family being here and he lived out his frustration over the situation with the attacks. Unfortunately he and everybody had just found out that his son is dead, you must already know that if you know why Matt McNamara is at the police station? He says there supposed to be some plane tickets there for Paris. And guess what we are told from the headquarters? Dr. Moore is on a plane to France. It's up to the French police now, I don't assume he's going there to leave his son's death unredeemed...it was a pleasure to meet you Dr. Troy," she gave him one more little moment from her precious time with which she still juggled, in between family and work commitments, "I gotta go, they have the plane ready for us," she nodded, trying to give him all her sympathy. She met many troubled people and she knew it couldn't be easy to be Christian Troy either. But it wasn't her place to do anything about that, so she went, although sometimes she felt like it would be nice for a change to run a psychology practice and not after madcap criminals. She turned back from the door,

"but Dr. Moore...the Carver, he wasn't here at the time of your attack. I'm sorry, but that was just somebody else the local police will have to deal with. Good luck," she let the door swing shut behind her.

tbc


	5. Species

Chapter 5: Species

Bailey Malone was wakened by the rattle of the shutters as somebody opened his private office's door. His eyes immediately darted to the electronic clock on his desk, thinking it's morning and the cleaner was arriving. Quite a lot of the time he spent his nights sleeping on the couch of his office, he didn't see any reason to go home into the empty apartment.

But it wasn't even midnight yet and John stood in the doorway, "sorry, I didn't know you were asleep already."

"John! Come in!" He rubbed his face, "something wrong? I don't think you have a bed here to sleep on," he jested, referring to the late hour.

"Thank God, cause I might use it sometimes..." John liked to pretend he still had a social life, "maybe if you'd let that sofa removed from the office you would go home too."

"I'd probably just sleep in the chair," self ironised Bailey, "anything you wanted to speak to me about?"

"I had a couple of beers over at the pub across and I was thinking...according to my files, Dr. Christian Troy appears to be my older brother, whether he wants it or not. Would've been a lot searched for O'Donnell boy just like me if his mother wasn't somehow cleverly scared enough of my father and told him ever that she had a son with him. And my brother, hmm, weird as that sounds from my mouth, seems to have a mortal enemy who's still out on the loose. And me, as a detective I feel the obligation to go down there and do some little private investigations of my own...does that sound any reasonable to you at all?"

"I have nothing against that John. You must have weeks left from your annual leave and who am I to go against family ties, however faint those are?" He said ironically, wishing for second chances not only with Frances but with everyone else.

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Christian Troy didn't neccessarily want to have any contact with him, but that didn't mean John couldn't contact the surgeon's friends, co-workers, especially Liz, Grace's sister, who he thought of as on their side. She could probably make him understand what kind of man Christian was and maybe give him some insight into his private life. Unfortunately, it was likely that he will have to step into that dangerous turf, as the carver copycat didn't strike any other times. If it was a first time offender, as these people often are, it will be a while before he or she will dare to attack once more, hopefully enough for him to figure out who it was, even if it cost him Christian's remaining positive attitude, if he ever had any, towards him, for snooping after him and endangering his false sense of security regarding his identity. He had parked his Porsche outside the surgery, but since Liz has already left work, he dialled her cell phone leisurely walking down the alley and leaning onto the hood of a large metallic Camaro. Cars were his vice, not only the driving of sport cars, but carelessly leaning onto them when he was internally involved with something. He could do it, if a car alarm occasionally went off, he would just show his bureau badge and everything would be fine. He didn't exploit his status anywhere near as often as some other people who worked for the FBI who he knew of, so he was due a bit of leave way. This time though, it really was the wrong thing to do. All he felt was a pinch in his back and the next thing he knew was his knees giving away under him. One of the doors of the car opened and he was pulled inside.

"You make it really easy for me, Christian," he heard a voice. He wanted to turn around and tell the man he wasn't Christian Troy, but he found himself unable to make any movement at all. John could not see his face, not only because the man was with his back to him, but additionally, the man seemed to have also used a different tranquilliser as the serial rapist they had previously identified, because soon everything went black.

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"Now, none of this beauty is a curse on the world crap," John woke up to the same voice, but found himself in a reasonably well equipped surgery room, "that was only so I can impose some well deserved punishment on you. Now, that the real Carver is gone, we can get down to business. Remember my business associate?" He pointed to an older Asian woman who held a syringe in her hand. It was connected to a bag of fluids and an iv that was attached to the detective's arm, "one false move and you are dead. Now, make me handsome," he indicated to a computer screen which had his facial features contorted into being more similar to Christian Troy's, "this time I'm not drugged my friend and I know what I want," he pulled John to his feet and himself lay down onto the table previously John was lying on, "wash up, what are you waiting for?" Grinned the almost bald man who wanted a hair transplant along with the other changes as it showed on the picture.

John went over to the wash basin with the strange sombre woman on toe, and contemplated his options while making his hands utterly soapy. If he understood well what was going on here, he could have waited until that screwball man was asleep, then tear the needle out of his arm. He was absolutely sure he could move before the woman could react, he was much more trained to do so than they could ever imagine about Christian. Then again, she had a gun too, that she put down next to her onto the table. All in all, nothing that would stop him getting out of this situation without any harm if he still didn't feel woozy from the drugs he was given. He could only hear the clutter of a gun, he didn't even see it where exactly it was, "are you sure you want me to operate on you feeling nauseous and dizzy?"

"Are you crazy?" The man on the table laughed, "I gave you nothing that compromises you manual dexterity and close range vision. As far as things that are a more than a couple of feet away from you, I can assure you, you won't see them very clearly for hours."

It was time to play the other card then, "I'm not Christian Troy. You got the wrong person. I'm not even a plastic surgeon."

That got the other man sitting up, "no. You're a person who got himself operated to look like Christian Troy," he said satirically, "and that handsome mug of yours is just getting younger and younger as well. So typical."

"No, I'm his brother. If you don't believe me phone him. Do you know his number? Is he picks up, I'm not him. Why would I say that if I can't prove it? Gaining some time gets me nothing. Call him."

The suspicious woman took his driving licence out of his coat pocket and threw it towards the man, "Bobbolit," giving John a vague idea who they were, as the ex plastic surgeon has been previously been on their list of potential carvers, but has been soon removed from the suspects' list, for some reason he couldn't remember.

Bobbolit caught his licence and came close to examine John's features, "you know what? I can see some differences," he speed dialled Christian's number as someone who had formerly known him very well.

"Christian Troy," it sounded loud and clear from the other side of the connection. After that, there was silence. Especially for John, as a new dose of tranquilliser reached him through his iv.

tbc


	6. Brotherhood

Chapter 6: Brotherhood

This time, he more like drifted back through the edges of consciousness, rather then came suddenly awake, possibly due to the accumulative effects of the different sedatives they used on him. Voices grew louder, and when his eyes met with the lights above he had to shut them again. At the same time, Sam told him he was in safe hands.

"How?" he stared up, squinting, "I knew you were going to come sooner or later because of the emergency signal I managed to give to you through my cell when they attacked me, but so soon?"

Sam laughed, "it's not exactly soon. Christian has already went in for you all by himself before we got there."

"Christian Troy?" John wondered as if there would be any other Christian they could be talking about.

"Yes. Merrill Bobbolit blackmailed him to do what he asks, cause he has his brother. And he did. He was in the middle of the surgery when we raided."

"But...? He didn't know I was his brother."

"Apparently he did. He asked for his adoption records himself and figured out the rest."

"Do you think...he must just be a good man. He would've went in for anyone, he didn't go for me in particular."

"I don't think so. But you can ask him yourself. He's outside."

"More like in," Christian said from the doorframe, and stood out the way so Sam could leave.

"Oh, I must say I'm surprised," John stated.

"So am I," Christian pursed his lips together, "so, you are my little brother," he said matter of factly, then laughed mockingly.

"If you'll take me, yes."

"Well, not as if I'll have to pay your college funds."

They stood for a moment, looking at each other, neither taking the slight joke as a sign to transfer their nervousness into a titter. Instead, their eyes met, the pain of loneliness in both their looks. Awkward as it seems, but they reached out with that look. Neither men of words or lengthy meaningful conversations they felt like they had just spent hours talking. It was the mutual understanding between two persons who could never have the childhood they deserved cause they shared the same father. Two man who never dared to have their own family for the maltreatment they have suffered during those early years. John also understood that Christian wasn't rejecting him. He reassured him instead with the same look that everything would be all right between them. Because the other could fill the void, what they were missing. A family of unconditional bonds. They both have fairly proved that to each other.

The End.


End file.
